


The Blue Wooden Door.

by hennethgalad



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anger Management, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23030596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hennethgalad/pseuds/hennethgalad
Summary: A guard of Caranthir reminisces.5: "The blue wooden door."
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11
Collections: Back to Middle-earth Month 2020: Endings and Beginnings





	The Blue Wooden Door.

Captain Mínariel's orders were to wait at the blue wooden door, but my lord Caranthir is not the only one under the weight of an Oath. We were chosen by Finwë himself for our patience and calm.   
Apart from the outbursts of rage, Caranthir is a fine lord, and the haste that trips him up in polite courtly matters is a marvel to see on the battlefield, and it is a pleasure to guard him in peacetime, if that’s what this is.  
What blue wooden door, you ask, and who is this? My name is not important, but I will say that I was born in this old country, and have returned, under Oath. The door leads through to the boathouse, on beautiful Lake Helevorn, where the mountains shelter the water to mirror-still, as though to better admire the gleaming snow on their peaks.  
We have never crossed the mountains. The expedition reached the height of the pass, (after exchanging rich gifts with the Dwarves) and he, that is, my lord Caranthir, let out an awful groan and slumped to his knees, gripping his hair so hard I thought he’d pull it out. But the Captain helped him to his feet and led him over to the shade and gave him some miruvor, and gestured to the rest of the expedition to carry on without him, for the moment. But my lord, revived by the miruvor, struggled to his feet and strode purposefully onwards until he seemed to hit an invisible wall, and then he just collapsed. Well, we rushed forward and carried him back to the shade, and he said in a dreadful voice "Alas... alas the Oath... I cannot leave this place, I cannot."  
And the whole expedition turned around and marched back down the endless climb. The Dwarves, who had cheered our passing, were nowhere to be seen as we returned, their guards, even, concealing themselves from our sight. It all felt like we were in disgrace, but there is no explaining an Oath to one who is not so bound.  
My own Oath was to Finwë, to guard Caranthir. But not only to protect him from attack, we must also soak up his rage and never ever provoke him. Those were not the words of our Oath, but that’s what it amounts to. 

And so, just as the Oath of Fëanor holds his sons in old Beleriand, my Oath, ours, I should say, all twelve of us swore it, our Oath drags us through the blue wooden door, against the express orders of our Captain. But since she took the Oath with us, we all know that we must obey the Oath we swore to Finwë and disregard such orders as contradict it. But Captain Mínariel must be able to say to lord Caranthir "I have ordered the guards to wait at the blue wooden door" when he says "I have to be alone now, stand down."

But of course we follow him. The boathouse is a small one, not like the cavernous sheds by the docks, there is room for his little sailboat and two rowing boats. I know nothing of sailing, but most of the others have learned, and besides, it is not possible to remain concealed on the water.  
We have worn a path, just us guards, over the centuries, past the willows and up through the hazel and oak, into the cleft, then up to the little shelf, where the pines begin to take over, and the ferns grow tall, and we sit among them, in our green hoods, and watch him on the water.  
The sound carries, on the water, and echoes against the steep mountain walls of the little bay where he likes to go. It’s too sheltered for decent sailing but he likes to use the oars, and really put his back into it, until the boat is slapping along, and he is so out of breath that he forgets what he is angry about. Or at least, what provoked the latest bout of uncontrollable rage, which is so much a part of him. But when the boat is drifting, and he has regained his breath, well, then he screams. He screams, he shouts, he curses, he curses a long list of beings, often starting with Eru Ilúvatar and working his way down to us, who, being so near so constantly cannot help but provoke him, whether we will it or no.   
Once I heard him cry to Ulmo of the Waters, begging Him to cover all the land with a great wave and scour him and all elvendom away into the sea. I must say, that sent a chill through me, call me superstitious all you like, but I have seen too many graves, and I have no wish that mine should be a watery one. 

And then he rows calmly (for the moment) back to the boathouse and we scuttle along to get there ahead of him and wait for him by the blue wooden door. One time he came through and was smiling to himself, then he smiled at us, and seemed to see us in a new way. Well, the corridor there is nothing, just empty passage at the foot of the stairs, there’s nothing to look at, no window, nothing. And he frowned and said "What a dull place! Forgive me, I am so thoughtless! There am I enjoying myself out on the water while you are trapped in this hole staring at the walls. I must... You must..." he frowned, and I had to frown too, at my mate who was almost writhing with the effort of keeping his face straight. Well, lord Caranthir looked behind him at the blue wooden door and sighed, then took the stairs two at a time. They led up to the pantries, and in the first door we came to the Steward was there discussing wines with a couple of the staff. Lord Caranthir pokes his head in and looks about, and there’s a table and chairs in the corner. So he gets the Steward to help him and they move the table themselves to right by the door where we would be able to see the stairs and the blue wooden door. Well, of course the Steward knows very well that nobody ever stands by the stupid door, but he's carefully setting chairs by the table and promising us his best hospitality, knowing all the while that our Oath will drag us after our lord, and right through the blue wooden door.


End file.
